YANKEE FARMING. NO. 8. 
31 
his big log, and was indebted to the doughty little 
Major Godell to help him out of his difficulty, all 
[ could say had no effect upon him ; but one day 
after his late famous mowing bee, as we were fish- 
ing along the banks of Silver Brook, I broached the 
subject again, when his obstinacy slightly gave 
way. and he seemed half overcome by my arguments, 
and almost made up his mind to try an experiment 
with a few acres that very season. But then, 
again, up rose his deep-abiding prejudices; "his 
father nor grandfather, nor no other Doolittle he 
had ever heerd on, had ever done the like; then 
why should he % It seemed clear agin nater. If the 
bogs was to be dry, then they would 'a bin made 
so." Yes, I replied, and by the same course of 
reasoning, } T our famous nine acre mowing lot, which 
yields such large burtherns of the best of hay, ac- 
cording to your principles should still remain in the. 
original forest that your ancestors found it, when 
they first came to settle here. I dare say, had the 
aboriginal inhabitants been asked why they did not 
clear off the trees and sow it with grass, and keep 
cattle, they would have answered something as you 
do : " That if the Great Spirit had designed it for 
such a purpose, he would have formed it so ; that 
Indians were created to live in the woods and hunt 
bears and deer for a living, and not to cultivate 
meadows and breed cattle." The truth is, in one 
sense, there is no such thing as following nature. 
We must compel her to follow, or rather work for 
us. " Wal, Sargeant, I don't know how it is, yet 
somehow or nother you allous out argue me ; but 
then you be so bookish I can't stomach that" — 
snapping his fingers with great contempt — " and 
you are etarnally talkin' about what them 'ere big 
dukes, and lords, and sirs, is a doin' on over the 
water. I hate all 'ristocrats as a mushquash does a 
mink ; though the neighbors still call me a 'ristocrat, 
cause I'm a federal, while every body else in town, 
'cept minister and old deacon Billins, has got 
ashamed o' the name (and yit General Washington 
was one, and warnt he the greatest and best man 
that ever lived ?), and turned republican, or whig, 
or dimicrat, or loky-foky, or somethin' else, I knows 
nothin' about. Oh, yes ! a 'ristocrat is just like a 
mink ; he sucks the blood out of the mushquash, 
though they be the biggest and most industrious-. 
But a mink 's the cunninest — the insiniatin' rascal 
— and 'tis he that's killed all my ducks, 'cept an 
old drake, and half my goslins' this summer. I 
only wish I had him here now" — and then he shut 
his teeth firm together, grinned, shook his head as 
a dog would with a woodchuck in his mouth, and 
squeezed his vice-like fists — "I'd choke his life 
out on him, the oily black villain that he is !" 
Never mind politics, my good neighbor, said I. ap- 
peasingly ; recollect we are talking about farming ; 
and as for titled personages, why you know I care 
as little for them in the abstract as you do ; but 
then, the opinion of such a man as Sir Humphrey 
Davy, one of the best agricultural chemists of his 
day, or the experiments of so excellent a practical 
farmer as the Duke of Portland, or Earl Spencer, 
are not to be gainsayed, although they may bear 
titles, which fortunately in our happy political con- 
dition are not allowable ; yet they are men, and 
consequently their opinions are as good as if they 
were the best republicans to be found in the 
land. " Wal, but its all book farmin' that you're 
talkin' about, and this, you know, Sargeant, I hate. 
It's like 'a dog etarnally barkin', but which never 
bites ;' and that goes to signify it's all talk and no 
work." Yes, but book farming, as you term it, is 
the faithful record of preceding work. " No sich a 
thing, sir. No ; it's only some vagabone of a fel- 
lar that's too lazy to work, and so he goes to writin'. 
Wal, that makes me think o' the barkin' dog agin. 
One puppy sets up a yelp, and all the tothers in 
town jines in. One book makes another, till the 
world gets so full on 'em if a body lived as old as 
Mathuselah, he'd hardly git time to read even their 
titles, to say nothin' of their contents; so I jist lets 
'em all alone, I do, which saves my money and my 
time, too. ' It aint all goold that glistens,' I can 
tell you, Sargeant. Book makers is consated, they 
thinks nothin' can be done without 'em ; and him 
that reads 'em, ' goes out for wool and comes home 
shorn.' ' Never buy a pig in a poke.' ' Say well 
is purty good, but do well, accordin' to my notion, 
is a great deal better.' " 
"Do well^ I repeated, catching up some of his 
last words, before he could take breath to continue 
with his never-ending repetition of old proverbs, 
that is exactly what I am at, Mr. Doolittle, I added, 
strongly emphasizing the two last syllables of his 
name ; for I felt a little nettled at his prejudiced 
tirade against agricultural books. 
By this time we had fished so far down the 
stream that we had unconsciously crossed Uncle 
Sim's line, and got on to the premises of his nearest 
neighbor, Joe Watkins, who, to our mutual sur- 
prise, the past month, had been doing with his 
meadow, exactly what I had recommended to Mr. 
Doolittle. And now, I continued, if you don't like 
the operation of aristocrats, please to see what that 
" simple critter," as you term him, our friend Jo- 
seph, has accomplished. If he don't prove wiser 
than yourself in this matter, I am then greatly mis- 
taken. " Yes," said Watkins, advancing to meet 
us with spade in hand, and all splashed with mud, 
his pantaloons rolled up above his knees, and his 
shirt sleeves above his elbows — " didn't I go up the 
old Connecticut, last year 1 And didn't I see how 
rich it. made them 'ere big meadows by its annual 
overflowins ? And havn'tl read in the Bible about 
the overflowin', too, of the Nile ?" Take care what 
you say, Joe, I replied, or Mr. Doolittle here, will 
shut your mouth with an essay against book fann- 
ing. "Wal, let him try, then," he answered, 
rather doggedly, " for I've seen now as well as 
read ; and it was beyond belief the great crops of 
rye, and Indian corn, and broom corn, and grass, 
and I don't know what all I found jist from them 
'ere overflowins, and waterins. Then says I to my- 
self, says I, Joe, if them 'ere big rivers can do all 
this, when I get hum, I'll jist see what that 'ere lit- 
tle river, Silver .Brook, will do on my meaders, I 
will — but I'll drain 'em fust; and so you see, Ser- 
geant, here I be." 
Good, Joe, said I slapping him approvingly on 
the back, you are the man for my money ; and one 
of these days I'll tell you about the chemical value 
of water, and the fertilizing properties it holds in 
solution ; but we'll take good care that Uncle Sim 
is not by to hear us. " No you wont, nother," 
sharply spoke up our obstinate, anti-book farmer, 
